


Defying Sanity

by HerbertThePervert



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!, Yu-Gi-Oh! Series
Genre: Crack, M/M, Thiefshipping, also there's some broadway songs don't ask me why I don't know, and Rick Astley, based off of ygotas Bakura and Marik, datacow'scontest, the world may never know, will i ever write a serious fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 05:37:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10430289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerbertThePervert/pseuds/HerbertThePervert
Summary: Bakura and Marik are all ready to travel to Egypt to get their revenge against the Pharaoh, but a minor hiccup in their plans forces them to make some money. Luckily for them, a new reality show is looking for people to audition, and the prize is $250,000. Written for datacow40's contest.





	

            “IT’S TIME TO TRYYYY DEFYING GRAVITY! I THINK I’LL TRYYYY DEFYING GRAVITY!” Marik’s off-key warbling filters through the door of the hotel bathroom, along with the ‘pitter-patter’ of a shower running.

            “Marik, for the love of Ra, _shut up!_ ” Bakura shouts, exasperated.

            “I’M THROUGH ACCEPTING LIMITS, CAUSE SOMEONE SAYS THEY’RE SO!” Marik’s singing continues.

            Bakura groans and covers his head with a thin hotel pillow. For the past 12 hours, he had been subjected to this torture. Ever since they had left Domino for Egypt to kill the Pharaoh, Marik had been screaming in Bakura’s ear. Not even stopping at a hotel for a night could silence him.

            “’Kura, do you like my new top?!” Bakura removes the pillow from his face, realizing the ‘pitter-patter’ of the shower has stopped. Marik stands before him, gesturing towards his purple top. Bakura can’t help but notice it’s the exact same shade as his eyes.

            “Yes, it’s very nice.” Bakura responds in a tone usually reserved for talking to 5-year-olds.

            “Did you hear that, Rodrick?” Marik says to the Millennium Rod in his hand. “’Kura said I look pretty!”

            “I didn’t say that!” Bakura snaps.

            “You implied it!” Marik snaps back, then flounces off to comb his sopping wet hair in front of the smudged mirror in the bathroom.

            Bakura sighs, partly at Marik’s childishness, but mainly at himself for putting up with it. For some reason, no matter what foolish thing Marik did, Bakura always stuck with him. He couldn’t count the number of times he had been injured or almost killed or driven to insanity by irritation, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Maybe because he knew that, if he left, Marik couldn’t possibly survive. It’d be like abandoning a week-old puppy.

            Marik comes back into the room. “Did you brush your teeth?”

            “Yes.”

            “No you didn’t, Bakura! Don’t lie to me!”

            “Marik, shut up and go to bed.”

            “Mouth health is a very serious matter!”

            “I don’t care.”

            “That’s what you say to everything!”

            “I don’t care.”

            “You’re always so mean to me!”

            “Guess what?

            “You don’t care?”

            “Good job, now you’re starting to get it.” Bakura lies down and pulls the covers over himself, turning away. Marik stomps his foot in frustration and whines. Seeing that Bakura isn’t going to give him any more attention, he walks across the room, turns off the lights, and gets into the other twin bed. Bakura can hear the covers rustling as Marik gets comfortable. After a few minutes, the rustling is replaced by snoring.

            Bakura rolls onto his back and looks up at the stained ceiling. He’d never admit it, but he felt some comfort knowing Marik was only a few feet away. Bakura wasn’t scared of the dark- he was a thief, after all- but sometimes he got lonely.

            _No. Not lonely._ Bakura thinks sharply. ‘Lonely’ is for losers like that midget Yugi Moto, or Bakura’s wimpy host whose name he couldn’t remember. No, Bakura didn’t get lonely. _Bored, that’s the word. Not lonely._ Sometimes it was nice to have someone to keep you from getting bored. And whatever word you used to describe Marik, (and Bakura could think of a few choice ones) he certainly wasn’t _boring._

*          *          *

            The next morning, Bakura awakes to a note from Marik on the counter of the room’s kitchenette:

“Kitty-

Gone to get breakfast

-Supreme ruler and overlord of the world, Marik Sebastian Ishtar”

            Bakura scowls at his hated nickname, crumpling up the note. He throws it away and walks over to his suitcase. Today they were flying out to Egypt from the airport in Tokyo, and Bakura wanted to doublecheck what time the flight left. After all, villains always have to be punctual.

            Bakura sifts through his clothes (5 pairs of the exact same outfit) and chip bags Marik snuck into his suitcase. _Where are the tickets?_ He picks up the suitcase and dumps its contents onto the ground. No tickets. _Maybe they’re in Marik’s suitcase._ He opens up the pink Hello Kitty suitcase laying on Marik’s bed. Purple tops, Millennium Rod polish (available at a store near you), pictures of the Pharaoh with drawn-on devil horns, and 5 cans of hairspray. No tickets.

            “Where the devil are they?” Bakura mutters to himself. He starts opening the nightstand drawers, hoping that he put them in there and just forgot about it.

            “OH. EM. GEE. YOU WOULD NOT _BELIEVE_ THE LINE AT MICKY D’S!” Marik loudly declares, walking into the room with a grease-covered McDonald’s bag. “THERE WERE LIKE 6 PEOPLE AHEAD OF ME AND THIS LITTLE OLD LADY INSISTED ON PAYING IN EXACT CHANGE AND THIS OTHER GUY-”

            “Marik, where are our plane tickets?” Bakura interrupts.

            “-TOOK LIKE 25 FRIGGIN YEARS TO MAKE UP HIS MIND, AND- what was that?”

            “Where. Are. Our. Tickets?” Bakura says slowly, his patience wearing thin.

            “What tickets?” Marik asks unconcernedly, pulling a hash brown out of the bag.

            “The tickets we need to get on the plane for Egypt!”

            “Oh, you mean the rectangles with a bunch of numbers on them made from the fancy paper?”

            Bakura rolls his eyes. “Yes, the fancy paper rectangles. Where are they?”

            “I ate them.” Marik answers casually.

            Bakura is stunned into silence for a moment. “You… _ate_ …them?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Marik, why the bloody hell would you do that?!”

            “I was hungry!” Marik says defensively.

            “So let me get this straight,” Bakura says slowly. “You went into my suitcase, got out the tickets we need in order to fly to Egypt, and _ate them._ ”

            “That’s what I just said, isn’t it?”

            “Completely disregarding,” Bakura continues. “The 15 different chips bags that you insisted on putting into my suitcase so you could eat them _in case you got hungry._ ”

            “Aren’t you British? Why did you say ‘chips’ instead of ‘crisps’?”

            “MARIK, DO YOU REALIZE WHAT THIS MEANS?”

            “Yeah, it means that any sort of consistent characterization has already gone out the window.”

            “WE ARE STUCK HERE. IN THIS MANGY HOTEL. WE CAN’T GO TO EGYPT. OUR PLAN IS GOING TO FAIL. ALL BECAUSE YOU DECIDED TO ACT LIKE A BLOODY MORON AND EAT OUR TICKETS.”

            “Well, it wasn’t really a conscious decision,” Marik clarifies. “After all, you’re not you when you’re hungry.”

            “THIS IS NOT A BLOODY SNICKERS COMMERCIAL! THIS IS REAL LIFE!”

            “Oh, you worry too much,” Marik waves a hand, disregarding Bakura’s totally justified concern. “Here, have an Egg McMuffin.”

            Bakura grabs Marik’s proffered McMuffin and flings it across the room. “Those tickets were over $1000 each! We don’t have the money to buy more!”

            “Don’t worry, I’ll just use Rodrick to brainwash a Steve into giving us money.” Marik waves his Rod.

            “And how many Steves have you seen around here?”

            Marik thinks for a minute. “Ten?”

            “No.”

            “Twenty?”

            “You’re getting colder.”

            “Fifty?”

            “ _None,_ Marik. We haven’t seen a single Steve since we left Domino.”

            “Well, there are other ways of getting money. We could sell our blood.”

            “4Kids can’t show blood! They would just censor it!”

            “Oh, yeah.” Marik strokes his chin, thinking. “What if we start a GoFundMe? I’m sure there are plenty of people who would donate their hard-earned money to help 2 psychopathic strangers murder someone who already died thousands of years ago.”

            “Marik, you are an absolute fool.”

            “But am I a _pretty_ fool?” Marik asks, batting his eyelashes. Bakura responds by yanking open the door to the room, stomping out, and slamming it shut. “Jeez, jealous much?” Marik picks up the TV remote laying on the stand.

            _He’s never coming back,_ a dark voice whispers in the back of Marik’s mind. It’s a voice he’s very familiar with. He tries to shut it out the way he always does, by distracting himself with some superficial diversion. “Ooh! Golden Girls! I love me some Betty White!”

            Halfway through his third episode, an ad comes on the TV that catches his eye.

            “Are you the most interesting person you know?”

            “I so totally am!” Marik shouts at the screen.

            “Do you want everyone to see how great you are?”

            “You know it!”

            “Do you want to win $250,000 dollars?”

            “Holy shit, that’s a lot of purple tops!”

            “Then come audition for _Applause_ , the newest reality show that’s sweeping the nation! Every team gets 5 minutes to do whatever they want, and whoever gets the least amount of applause is eliminated. Whoever’s left after 8 weeks wins $250,000, bragging rights, and the adoration of millions!”

            “I WANT THAT!” Marik jumps up in excitement.

            “If all that sounds good to you, come to 124 Conch Street this Friday to see if you’ve got what it takes!”

            “AAAAHHHHH!” Marik starts hopping around the room, screeching like a banshee.

            The door to the room opens and Bakura comes back in. “Marik, I-” he pauses as he sees Marik jumping up and down on the bed. “Um, what is happening?”

            Marik stops jumping and lands on his butt, bouncing slightly from the impact. “’Kura! I’ve found a solution to our problem!”

            Bakura looks at him warily. “What is it?”

            “There’s this gameshow that’s having auditions, and the winners get $250,000! That would cover the cost of tickets.”

            “But I…” Bakura hesitates. He looks at Marik, who’s almost wiggling, eyes shining with eagerness. He sighs. _I’m going to regret this._ “All right, Marik. Let’s win some money.”

*          *          *

            A couple days later, Bakura sits on an uncomfortable plastic seat in a darkened auditorium. 3 judges are sitting at a table in front of him, watching Marik, who is singing on the stage.

            “Don’t worry, you don’t even have to come on stage! My singing is so amazing it’ll be good enough to get both of us on the show!” Marik had said the day before.

            _Singing? Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?_ Bakura had thought snidely, but he didn’t argue. He had no desire to perform in front of anyone, now or ever, and if he could get out of this audition, he wasn’t going to say anything.

            So now he was sitting in this pathetic excuse for a seat, drumming his fingers impatiently on the armrest and suffering through what he had already endured for hours.

            “HELLO, MY NAME IS MARIK ISHTAR, AND I WOULD LIKE TO SHARE WITH YOU THE MOST AMAZING BOOK!” Marik flings his arms out passionately, accidentally letting go of the Rod. It flies up and hits a spotlight, shattering its glass and causing shards to cascade onto the stage.

            Marik doesn’t notice.

            “YOU SIMPLY WON’T BELIEVE HOW MUCH THIS-”

            One of the judges waves his hand, cutting Marik off. “Um, you can stop now. We’ve heard enough.”

            “That’s for damn sure.” The judge next to him mutters.

            “Goody!” Marik claps. “So when does filming start?”

            The judges exchange a look. “Oh, uh, we still have some people who have to audition. We’ll be giving information to the people we chose tomorrow. So you can go.”

            “See you all on set!” Marik walks off the stage, oblivious to the judges giving each other another look. “Come on, Kitty, let’s go get lunch.”

            “Oh, I’ll be out in a moment. I dropped one of my contacts.” Bakura lies smoothly.

            “Hmm, I didn’t know you wore contacts.” Marik pauses. “Or is Ryou the one who wears contacts? For that matter, are you in Ryou’s body, or do you have your own? Because if this story takes place after the show’s canon, you should be dead. But if-”

            “Marik, stop breaking the fourth wall and go find someplace to eat.” Bakura cuts in. He waits for Marik to leave the auditorium, then walks over and stands in front of the judges.

            The judge on the left looks up. “Can we help you?”

            “Actually, you can.” Bakura pulls out the Millennium Ring from under his shirt. “Now, first I’m going to ask you a question, on the off-chance that you all are completely deaf: Are you going to let Marik and me on the show?”

            “Fuck, no!” The judge on the right exclaims vehemently.

            Bakura aims the Ring at the judge’s face. “Wrong answer.”

            “What do you-” Flames erupt from the prongs of the Ring and start scorching the judge’s face. “AAHHHH! OH MY GOD, IT BURNS! IT BURNS! THIS HURTS EVEN MORE THAN WHEN THEY KILLED OFF DOBY IN HARRY POTTER!”

            Bakura lowers the Ring and the flames vanish, leaving the judge sobbing with a scarlet-red face. “I’ll ask again. Are you going to let us on the show?”

            The other 2 judges look at each other in horror. “Yes, yes, of course. Whatever you want.”

            “Excellent.” Bakura walks out of the auditorium, pausing at the door. “Oh, and if you think listening to Marik for 2 minutes is bad, try doing it for 12. Bloody. Hours.” With that, he walks out, the door clanging shut behind him.

            “Well, I was going to say that his burning you face off wasn’t justified, but now I can see it totally was.” The judge on the left remarks.

            The judge in the middle nods. “Yeah, I think that British guy is the _real_ victim here.”

*          *          *

            The next morning, Bakura is awoken by the sound of Marik shrieking loudly.

            “EEEEEEEE! Kura, look, we got in!” Bakura opens his eyes and sees Marik standing in front of him, already dressed, waving a stapled packet in his face. “They sent this to the hotel an hour ago!”

            Bakura can’t help but smile a little at Marik’s ecstasy. “How unexpected.”

            “What are you talking about, my singing was _awesome_!” Marik responds. “I totally expected to be chosen!” He flounces off to the kitchenette and starts making a ‘Marik special’ (yogurt slathered onto a piece of toast with French fries on top) “Oh, and we need to practice for next week, Bakura. I picked a great song for us to do!”

            Bakura groans and pulls his pillow over his face.

*          *          *

            The next week, Bakura trails behind Marik, who is marching around the set of _Applause_ like he owns the place. Groups of people are scattered about, practicing for their time on-screen.

            “This is going to be so friggin’ great!” Marik exclaims.

            “Except for the fact that we don’t even know what we’re going to do yet, and we’re on in half an hour.”

            “Kura, we’re doing that gymnastics routine, remember?”

            “We most certainly are _not-_ ”

            “But the routine is so good!”

            “I don’t bloody care, I am not going to-”

            Their bickering is stopped as they both come to a halt in front of an interviewer who is talking to another contestant- one who looks very familiar…

            “So, Mr. Necrophades, would you like to give us a hint about what you’ll be doing with your 5 minutes?” the interviewer asks.

            “Gladly! I’ll be DESTROYING THE WORLD!” the contestant replies.

            “ZORC?!” Bakura blurts out.

            Zorc turns and sees Bakura staring at him in shock. “Hi, Bakura!” Zorc replies, giving him a cheerful wave. Then he sees Marik and his face clouds over. “Oh, is _this_ the villain you replaced me with?”

            Bakura tries to reassure him by saying “Zorc, no one could replace you!” but he’s cut off by Marik.

            “DAMN STRAIGHT I’m the villain he replaced you with! And now we’re going to beat your lame-ass ‘destroying the world’ thing with our friggin’ AWESOME gymnastics routine!”

            “We’ll just see about that!” Zorc says, but his attempt at being macho falls apart when his voice cracks.

            “Zorc, are…are you okay?” Bakura asks.

            “I’m _fine_!” Zorc answers. He wipes his eyes discreetly. “Um, my allergies are acting up. I must go!” He runs away, sniffling.

            “Wow, and you think _I’m_ ridiculous!” Marik remarks.

            Bakura sighs. “Marik, I used to be very close to Zorc. I would appreciate it if you didn’t try to antagonize him.”

            Marik doesn’t hear him. “Ooh! Look! There’s a giant starfish!” He runs over to the starfish, only to find that it’s Yugi Moto. “Wait, this isn’t a giant starfish, it’s a midget anime protagonist!”

            “Wait, is that Marik Ishtar?” Yugi asks a blond guy with a vacant expression standing next to him.

            “Marik? Bakura? Wha are youse doin heah?” Joey Wheeler asks with an excessively Brooklyn accent.

            “We’re competing, duh! What are you two doing for your routine?” Marik answers.

            “We’re going to play a children’s card game!” Yugi says.

            Bakura raises his eyebrows. “You do realize you only have five minutes, right?”

            “Shit! I thought we had five _hours_!”

            “Yuge, wha are we gonna do?” Joey asks.

            “Lose to us, that’s what you’re going to do!” Marik says gleefully.

            Just then, a crew member appears. “Yugi Moto and Joey Wheeler? It’s your turn.”

            “Aw man!” Joey and Yugi follow the cast member onto the stage.

            “Well, that’s one less group to worry about.” Bakura remarks. “Everyone knows children’s card games are the least interesting thing in the world.”

            “Ain’t that the truth!” Marik agrees. “Who would ever want to watch a TV show about card games?”

*          *          *

            Bakura leans against the wall impatiently, arms crossed, as yet another group goes on stage. “Marik, are we seriously going to do the routine?”

            “Uh, _heck yeah!_ ” Marik says, clicking his heels together in excitement. Bakura silently admires the side view of Marik’s profile. _He’s quite attractive when he isn’t spouting his regular gibberish,_ Bakura thinks to himself. Then he realizes what he just thought and shakes his head to drive the thought away.

            The crew member from before walks into the room. “Marik Ishtar and…Kitty?” she calls out.

            Any affection Bakura had felt a moment ago completely vanishes. “Marik! I cannot _believe_ you told them my name is-”

            “EEEEEEEE!” Marik shrieks drown out Bakura’s protests. “Let’s go, Kura!”

            The two of them follow the crew member onto the stage. The curtains are drawn and it is so dark Bakura can barely make out Marik’s outline. “Good luck!” the crew member whispers to them before disappearing into the wings. Marik and Bakura stand side-by-side, waiting for the curtains to open.

            The first notes of “Never Gonna Give You Up” ring out through the loudspeakers. Bakura takes a deep breath and mentally prepares himself. To his surprise, Marik reaches over and gives his hand a short squeeze right as the curtains fly open. Bakura looks down in shock and opens his mouth to say something, but Marik has already started moonwalking to the funky 80’s beat. Bakura clumsily follows suit.

            “IIIIIIIII, just wanna tell you how I’m feeling!” _What AM I feeling?_ Bakura wonders. _What even ARE feelings? Why am I thinking about this?_ “NEVER GONNA GIVE YOU UP! NEVER GONNA LET YOU DOWN!” Bakura and Marik do side-by-side somersaults. Even after he’s right-side up again, Bakura’s head still feels like it’s spinning.

            “NEVER GONNA RUN AROUND AND, DESERT YOU!” Marik and Bakura start leapfrogging across the stage. Bakura knows that they must look like total idiots, but he’s too distracted to care about that.

            “Your heart’s been aching, but, you’re too shyyyy to say it!” When they came up with the routine, this was the part where Marik lifted Bakura up to do a spin with him. But Bakura’s mind was still reeling from the hand squeeze, so when Marik grabbed him around the waist, Bakura automatically jumps back and ends up falling off the stage.

            “Damn it!” Bakura yells as he bangs his head on the thin carpeting that provides no cushion against the cement floor beneath.

            “No!” Marik looks around frantically, trying to figure out what to do. “Erm, this is part of the routine!” he says to the audience. He thinks for a second, then strikes a pose like an Olympic diver.

            Bakura sits up, his head throbbing. “What are you-” his question is answered when Marik dives off the stage and lands on top of Bakura, knocking the air out of both of them. “GET OFF!” Bakura shoves Marik off, and Marik rolls over. “What the bloody hell was that for?!”

            “I didn’t mean to land on you!” Marik says defensively as Rick Astley continues pledging his undying love in an iconic 80’s anthem. “I panicked and couldn’t aim right!”

            “Why did you dive off the stage to begin with?”

            “I don’t know! It seemed like a good idea at the time!”

            “How could that possibly seem like a good idea?!” Bakura hisses as he rubs the back of his aching head.

            “I wanted to make it look like it all was part of the routine!”

            “Yes, because me falling off the stage _definitely_ looked like part of the routine!”

            “Well, I needed to do _something_!”

            “And you thought jumping off the stage and landing on top of me was the best course of action?”

            “I’m sorry, okay! It’s hard for me to think straight around you!”

            Bakura pauses, taken aback. “…What?”

            Just then, the buzzer goes off, signaling that their time has ended. They both look up in surprise, having almost forgotten that they were in a competition.  The audience erupts into laughter and cheers, surprising them even more.

            “Are they…cheering for us?” Bakura asks as the two of them awkwardly get up off the floor.

            The announcer walks on stage, clapping his hands. “That was Marik Ishtar and Kitty with their amazing comedy routine! Let’s see what the next group has planned for us!” The audience cheers some more as a pair of crew members guide Bakura and Marik out into the hall.

            “Wow, the audience really liked you two!” One of the crew members remark as they push open a set of double doors.

            “We’ll see who’s eliminated in about half an hour, but I have a feeling you guys won’t have to worry about that for this week.” The other crew member says. They lead Marik and Bakura to the exit, then walk back to the set.

            Bakura turns to Marik, speechless. _I don’t know whether to laugh my ass off or punch him in the face._ “That was…the absolute worst… _shit show_...I have ever seen.”

            Marik grins, completely oblivious to what Bakura just said. “See, I told you it would be friggin’ awesome!”

*          *          *

            A couple hours later, Marik sits on the edge of his bed, reading a copy of the _National Enquirer,_ except this story is in Japan so it’s whatever trashy tabloid they have there. Bakura is sleeping in the other bed. As soon as they got back to their hotel room, Bakura had claimed that he needed a nap to recover from the day’s events.

            Marik felt a pang of guilt as he remembered that he had probably hurt Bakura when he dived off the stage. He hadn’t planned on doing that, he just…. well, actually, he never really planned on doing anything. He was the exact opposite of Bakura, who insisted on always having a plan. He was even willing to wait thousands of years to get his revenge on the Pharaoh in order to ensure his plan was perfect. Unlike Marik, who was 16 and couldn’t imagine another month without bringing justice to the Pharaoh.

            Marik throws his tabloid to the side and sighs. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out why Bakura chose to stay with him. Granted, he didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about it, but that was because he was sure that there was no reason. In the deep, dark recesses of his mind he was certain that Bakura was only putting up with him for entertainment purposes, and as soon as he started getting bored he would hit the highway.

            Bakura rolls over in his sleep and nestles his head into his pillow. Marik watches him for a few minutes. Without his usual scowl, Bakura looks a lot nicer, even peaceful. _He really does look like a kitten now,_ Marik can’t help but think. He feels an urge to reach out and tousle Bakura’s hair, but he restrains himself. If only he had restrained himself earlier today. _Why did I squeeze his hand?_ Marik thinks, mentally kicking himself. _I shouldn’t have done it. I don’t want to make things weird. I can’t ruin this relationship._

Tapping Rodrick against his thigh, Marik decides to get his act together. _Maybe if I start acting serious, Bakura won’t get sick of me, and he won’t leave._ Picking his tabloid back up, he makes a resolution: _No more impulsivity. No more singing. And no more eating plane tickets._

*          *          *

            Over the next few weeks, Bakura can’t help but notice a difference in Marik. Instead of being his usual excitable, bubbly, annoying self, he seems more reserved. Almost…sad.

            _Did I hurt his feelings?_ Bakura wonders as they wait for their turn on the week’s episode of _Applause_. _But I didn’t do anything!_ He glances at Marik out of the corner of his eye. _Maybe that’s the problem,_ a voice in his head says.

            Bakura shakes his head and exhales sharply. _You know what, who cares? Not me. I have better things to do than worry about Marik’s delicate little feelings getting hurt._

            “Are you ready?” Marik asks, interrupting Bakura’s thought.

            “Yes.” He replies.

            “Good.” An awkward silence ensues. Bakura almost misses Marik’s endless chatter. _Ask him what’s wrong,_ the voice in the back of his head says.

            _Shut up,_ Bakura responds, then realizes that he’s telling himself to shut up. _I’m going mad, that’s it. That’s why I’m actually caring about Marik. That’s the only reason._

*          *          *         

            Their magic show goes off without a hitch, Marik using Rodrick and Bakura using the Ring to hypnotize people. Just like their past few acts, it lacks the personality of their gymnastics routine, but still gets them enough applause to make it to the next week.

            Once again, two crew members escort them outside. “Congrats! You guys have almost made it to the finals!” one of them says.

            “Thanks.” Marik replies simply.

            “Can’t wait to see the acts next week,” the other one says. “I think you guys have a real shot.”

            Bakura and Marik wait in the hallway to hear the results. Bakura simultaneously feels like he needs to say something and like saying anything would just make it more awkward. So instead, he compromises by opening his mouth every few minutes, hesitating, and shutting it again.

            Marik seems unbothered by the silence, not noticing Bakura’s extreme discomfort. Finally, the TV screen on the wall flickers to life and the announce appears on stage.

            “You’re watching _Applause_ , and it’s down to the wire! Three groups remain. $250,000 up for grabs. And one question-”

            The audience chants along with him. “WHO! WILL! WIN!”

            “The results are in, and the groups going on to the finals are…” he pauses from drama, then shouts “THE KAIBA BROTHERS AND MARIK ISHTAR AND KITTY!” the audience goes wild as Bakura sighs with relief, not even caring about being called Kitty. “This means that Zorc Necrophades, you are going home!”

            “NOOOO!” A shout is heard from down the hall. Bakura looks over and sees Zorc running out of the building, sobbing.

            “Well, we made it to the finals.” Marik remarks emotionlessly.

            “Yeah,” Bakura says, feeling a pang for Zorc. _He seems really upset,_ he thinks, then scolds himself for being such a sap. _First Marik, now Zorc. Next thing you know, you’re going to start caring about Ryou!_ (jk no one cares about Ryou)

            Marik turns toward the door. “I guess we should head back to the hotel.”

            “Okay.” Bakura follows dutifully behind Marik as he opens the door and steps outside. Zorc sits on the ground next to a trashcan, sniffling. Marik walks towards their obligatory anime motorcycles, completely ignoring Zorc, but Bakura pauses. “Um, Marik? I think maybe I should talk to Zorc. You know, to try and cheer him up a little.”

            Marik stops walking but doesn’t turn around. “Sure, whatever.” Bakura starts heading towards Zorc, but before he’s out of earshot he hears Marik mutter “Might as well just go and stay with Zorc.”

            Bakura turns back around and glares at Marik’s back. “And what is _that_ supposed to mean?”

            “Nothing.”

            Bakura glowers, finally feeling fed-up with Marik’s recent passive-aggressiveness. “Well, it must mean _something_ , that’s why you said it.”

            Marik spins around, a scowl on his face. “Fine! It’s just that obviously, you care more about Zorc than you do about me, so you might as well stay with him!”

            _That’s not true!_ Bakura thinks, but the words get jumbled up on their way from his brain to his mouth so he ends up saying “Marik, you’re a bloody idiot.”

            “Yeah, you’ve made that clear.” With his face contorted in anger, Marik looks older, more mature. Just a few weeks ago, Bakura would’ve given anything for Marik to stop being so immature, but now he just wants to go back to how things were before.

            But it’s too late for that.

            “Well, we wouldn’t even be here right now if you hadn’t eaten our tickets!” Bakura snarls.

            “At least _I_ care enough to try and fix things when I mess up! At least _I_ give half a shit about other people!”

            “Do you want a bloody medal?” Bakura asks sarcastically.

            The old Marik would’ve probably thought he was being serious and said yes, but this new Marik just clenches his hand into a fist and explodes. “No, I don’t! What I want is for you to admit that you don’t care about anyone but yourself. That you use people and throw them aside when you’re done. I would’ve followed you to the ends of the Earth, but you wouldn’t even follow me down the street if you thought there was half a chance of a better option.”

            Bakura stands there, mouth hanging open, too shocked at this show of emotion to respond. Marik doesn’t wait for his answer. He jabs his thumb in the direction of Zorc. “Go ahead, prove me right. Go with Zorc.” He says, almost daring Bakura.

            “I-” Bakura starts to say, but Marik has his jaw set the way he always does when he makes up his mind.

            “I said _go,_ ” he insists. “You’re going to leave sooner or later, so you might as well do it now.”

            Bakura stands there for a moment, wanting to say something but also bristling at what Marik said. Marik stares at him, his chest rising and sinking rapidly from his barely-controlled anger. Bakura’s mind races, trying to decide what he do. He wants to say something to make things go back to how they were before, but he also wants to never see Marik again, but he also doesn’t want to prove Marik right.

            In the end, his pride wins out. Bakura grits his teeth and walks over to Zorc.

            “Bakura?” Zorc says in confusion, lifting his head.

            “Hey, Zorc,” Bakura resists the urge to turn around and see Marik’s reaction. “Sorry you got kicked off the show.”

            “I can’t believe I lost!” Zorc starts crying again. Bakura sighs mentally.

            “Listen, I was thinking. How would you like to help me destroy the Pharaoh? It could be just like old times.” Bakura offers.

            Zorc’s face scrunches up in confusion. “I thought you found a new villain!”

            Bakura’s face is stone-like, showing no emotion. “It didn’t work out. So is your answer a yes or a no?”

            Zorc wipes his eyes. “Yes!”

            “Great.” Bakura thinks a moment, realizing something. “Wait, you’re a dragon, right?”

            “Actually, I’m an evil demon with horns and bat wings and-”

            “Okay, yeah, so you’re another one of the Godforsaken, nightmarish creatures from a children’s card game,” Bakura interrupts. “But you have wings, so you can fly, right?” Zorc nods. “Could you fly me to Egypt so we can destroy the Pharaoh?”

            “Yay!” Zorc jumps up and claps his hands in excitement. “I love destroying things!”

            “I know you do,” Bakura mutters. Zorc kneels as Bakura climbs onto his back. With a mighty roar, Zorc takes off. Bakura looks down as the distance between him and the ground grows. He catches a glimpse of Marik looking up at him without any emotion before he can no longer make out anything on the ground. Bakura squares his shoulder and looks forward, determined to not waste any more time thinking about Marik.

            As the wind rushes by his ears, blowing his hair back, one last memory of Marik comes back. It’s of him singing a line from that song in the shower, way back before everything went to shit.

_And if I’m flying solo,_

_At least I’m flying free._

*          *          *

            Zorc crash lands a few hours later in the middle of Egypt, causing Bakura to roll off his back and faceplant into a pile of sand. He lifts his head up, coughing up silt, and takes in his surroundings. Thanks to the heart of the cards and extremely lazy plot writing, they had managed to go back in time to either 3,000 years ago or 5,000 years ago, depending on whether you believe 4Kids’ lies or not.          

            Bakura stands up, brushing the sand off his knees. He looks straight ahead and sees a giant palace. “There it is, Zorc.”

            “Denny’s? Are we getting pancakes?” Zorc asks.

            “No! The Pharaoh’s palace.” Bakura feels a pang as he thinks about how Marik probably would’ve asked a stupid question like that. He grits his teeth and sets off toward the palace. Zorc follows him, making little idiotic comments about their surroundings.

            “Look, there are some oranges for sale! I love oranges! Ooh, a cat! Hey, that person’s lying on the ground. Aww, they’re giving him a blanket! Wait, why are they covering his face with it?”

            “Because he’s dead,” Bakura answers, trying not to think about how Zorc’s childlike ignorance is exactly like someone else’s.

            _You really have a type,_ he thinks to himself. _People who are stupid and act half their age._ He sees Zorc’s strange character design and corrects himself. _Okay, maybe ‘people’ is the wrong word. Things that are stupid and act half their age._

They tramp through the sand for a while, walking past all the poverty and disease. Finally, they reach the entrance to the palace.

            “Halt!” a guard standing to the left of the entrance declares. “Who goes th-”

            “Zorc!” Bakura calls. Zorc opens his mouth and lets loose a jet of fire that burns the guard into a pile of ashes. The guard on the right stares in horror. “This is bloody convenient,” Bakura remarks.

            They walk into through the palace, Zorc blasting anyone who even looks at them. Reaching the throne room, Bakura flings the door open. Everyone in the room turns and stares at them.

            Atem lets out a heavy sigh. “Greaaaaat, _this_ guy again!”

            Bakura steps forward. “I have come to bring you to justice, Pharaoh!”

            “You say that, like, every day, but you never do.” Atem points out.

            “Well, this time is different!” Bakura shoots back.

            “Yeah, sure, whatever. Are you at least going to tell me what the hell I did?” Atem asks. “I mean, besides being ten times more handsome than you. That I will take full blame for.”

            “You are most certainly not-” Bakura shakes his head. _Stay focused, you’re so close!_ “You know what you did!

            “No, I don’t."

            “Yes, you do!”

            “No, I really don’t.”

            “Yes, you do!”

            “Dude, it took me thousands of years to remember my damn name, I don’t remember what I did to some random guy who somehow has a British accent despite being born in Ancient Egypt.”

            “You destroyed my village to make the Millennium Items!”

            Atem blinks. “No, that was my father.”

            “Yeah, right!”

            “It really was.” Mahad chimes in.

            “Yeah, he’s telling the truth.” Shada confirms.

            “Oh.” Bakura sucks his teeth. “Well, this is awkward.”

            “Yeah, it is.” Atem agrees.

            Bakura thinks for a second. “Well, you’re his son, so I might as well kill you. I mean, I came all the way to Ancient Egypt, I deserve to kill _someone._ ”

            “Uh, Seto’s right here, he’ll be glad to sacrifice himself for his pharaoh.”

            “No, I won’t.”

            “Seto, don’t be a little bitch. I’m too beautiful to die.”

            “You already died!”

            Bakura cuts in. “It wasn’t his father who massacred everyone I love!”

            “It actually was.” Atem says. The court nods and murmur in assent.

            “Okay, fine, I’ll just kill everyone here!” Bakura raises the Ring, preparing to finally, _finally_ get his revenge.

            “WAIT!” Atem raises his hand dramatically. “Sure, he destroyed your town. BUT! He didn’t destroy everyone you love.”

            “Whatchu talking ‘bout, Pharoah?” Bakura asks, still holding the Ring aloft.

            “I’m talking about Marik.”

            Bakura looks like Atem just slapped him. “ _What_? You- No- I don’t love Marik!”

            “Don’t you?” Atem asks knowingly.

            “Urgh…This has nothing to do with you or your father!” Bakura yells.

            “Oh, I think it does. You see, if he had never made the Millennium Items, your soul would’ve never been put in the Ring. You never would’ve lived 5,000 years from now-”

            “3,000, your majesty.” Shimon corrects.

            “Yeah, whatever. Anyway, you never would’ve met Marik. And you never would’ve fallen in love.”

            Bakura stands there, stunned. It almost like he’s flying again, as he can practically hear the air whooshing by his ears as his world turns upside down. He stares at Atem, an easy target, but…he doesn’t want to kill him. For the first time in forever, he doesn’t want revenge. And if something as crazy as him _forgiving_ the Pharaoh can happen, then is it really that much of a stretch to believe that he could fall in love with Marik?

            “I…” Bakura starts. He takes a deep breath and says something he never thought he would ever say. “Thank you, Atem. For helping me realize the truth.”

            Atem smiles and nods. “Go to him, Bakura.”

            Bakura’s heart starts pounding as he realizes what he must do. “Zorc! We need to go back!” He turns and runs out of the palace, Zorc following him, confused.

            “Ha! Can you believe that loser fell for that bullshit?” Atem snorts. “He’s probably going to start using Kuriboh and giving speeches about friendship."

*          *          *

            Due to complications from traveling through time and for the sake of drama, Bakura and Zorc make it back to modern times the same day as the _Applause_ finals.

            “Zorc, I’m sorry, but I have to go to Marik.” Bakura says, sliding off of Zorc’s back.

            “Are we still going to destroy the world later?” Zorc asks hopefully.

            “I don’t-” Bakura pauses and decides to throw Zorc a bone. “Sure, Zorc.”

            “Goody!” Zorc claps as Bakura sprints into the building. He can hear the announcer as he races through the hall.

            “Today’s the day everyone’s been waiting for: the _Applause_ finals! It all comes down to this- The Kaiba brothers versus Marik Ishtar and Kit-” the announcer pauses as a crew member whispers something in his ear. “Er, just Marik Ishtar.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, without further ado, let’s get started!”

            The audience roars as Bakura bursts into the room. He spots a serious-looking Marik walking onstage, holding a microphone. Bakura looks around as the opening notes of a song starts. Seeing some steps leading to backstage, Bakura heads towards them. Marik starts singing.

            “Don’t breathe too deep, don’t think all day…”

            Backstage, Bakura impatiently waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Looking around frantically, he finally spots a microphone. He grabs it just as he hears Marik launch into the chorus. Marik has sung this song so often that Bakura unintentionally memorized it. He waits right behind the curtain for a moment, heart pounding, as he waits for the second verse to start.

            “…You’re what you own!”

            Bakura flings open the curtain and raises the microphone to his mouth. “The filmmaker cannot see!”

            Marik looks over, eyes widening in shock, but he manages to continue with the next line. “And the songwriter cannot hear…”

            Bakura walks towards him, singing the next part. Marik turns and faces him as they perform a clichéd romantic duet. “For once, the shadows gave way to liiiight…for once, I didn’t disengaaaage!”

            Marik faces the audience during the last chorus, arms flung open wide as he sings with his old passion. Bakura smiles and turns toward the audience too. “You’re not aloooone… I’m not alooooone!”

            The song finishes, but there still is a little bit of time before their five minutes are up. Bakura takes a deep breath and lifts the microphone back up to his mouth. His palms are so sweaty that he has to grip the microphone with both hands, lest he drop it. “Marik…there’s something I need to tell you.”

            Marik turns and looks at him, wary. The audience all lean forward in their chairs, eager to hear whatever it is. Bakura closes his eyes for a second, gathers his courage, then opens them. “Marik…I love you.”

            A collective gasp is heard just as the buzzer goes off. The crowd reaches a frenzy, people shouting and hugging each other and dabbing at their eyes from the beauty of it all. Marik stares at Bakura in shock for a moment, and then a smile slowly spreads its way across his face. He engulfs Bakura in a great bear hug. Bakura, heart still racing, lifts his arms and hugs Marik back. Even though he had never hugged Marik before, it felt…right. It felt like home. And not home like the village that had been destroyed. It felt like a home that would last forever.

*          *          *

            An hour later, Bakura and Marik are at a club for the show’s afterparty.

            “I can’t believe we fucking lost,” Marik says, taking a swig from his drink.

            “Yeah, apparently Seto Kaiba flinging fistfuls of cash to the audience is a bigger crowd-pleaser than a heartfelt confession of love.” Bakura remarks.

            Marik looks down. “Bakura…did you say what you said just because you thought it would make us win?”

            Bakura touches his arm. “No, I meant it. I didn’t care about winning.”

            Marik looks up again. “But what about the money? What about getting our revenge?”

            Bakura swirls his drink around. “Yeah, about that…maybe we should hold off on our whole revenge plan. Besides, the money isn’t an issue. Remember when you first told me you ate our tickets, and I left for a couple of hours?”

            “Yeah.” Marik nods.

            “Well, I went and mugged a couple people and got a few thousand then. They call me the Thief King for a reason.”

            “Wait, why didn’t you tell me then? Why did you agree to go on the show?”

            Now Bakura looks down, embarrassed. “You seemed so excited about it. I couldn’t tell you no.”

            Marik grins widely. “Bakura! You’re such a softy!”

            Bakura’s head snaps up. “I am not!” he protests, offended. He opens his mouth to tell Marik how he is the exact opposite of a softy, thankyouverymuch, when he hears the start of yet another song that’s on regular rotation in Marik’s repertoire. “Marik. Did you go to a club and request a _bloody Broadway song_?”

            “Yep!” Marik smiles.

            “You are…”

            “A bloody idiot?”

            “Yes. But at least you’re _my_ bloody idiot.”

            Marik laughs. “Bakura, I love you.” He says simply, catching Bakura off-guard.

            “Oh, uh, well, thanks…”

            “This is the part where you’re supposed to say it back.”

            “I already said it!”

            “You can say it again.”

            “Why don’t you say it again?”

            “I just said it!”

            “Well, so did I.”

            “Well, at least I’m not British!”

            “Well, at least I didn’t eat our tickets!”

            “Well, at least I’m not a softy!

            “Hey!” Bakura opens his mouth to argue, but Marik holds out his hand.

            “Come on, let’s dance!”

            Bakura smiles, takes his hand, and they start dancing to Marik’s song.

 

_And a strange thing, your life could end up changing,_

_While you’re dancing through!_


End file.
